In The Beginning
by ErynLasgalen26
Summary: My take on Aragorn's arrival in Imladris.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Middle-earth, though I do thank J.R.R. Tolkien for creating this wonderful world. The characters and places are used for non-profit purposes only, so please don't sue me.

Author's Notes: I am not a Tolkien-expert nor do I claim to be one. Any errors that might occur in canon, language etc. are entirely my fault. Please feel free to point them out in a friendly manner, constructive criticism is welcome.

Additional A/N: Many of my stories and certainly my way of describing the characters' relationships are inspired by Cassia and Siobhan's wonderful "Mellon Chronicles".

I too work with the idea that both of Aragorn's parents died when he was young and he was therefore raised in the House of Elrond like a son and that Elladan and Elrohir are his older brothers by all but blood.

J.R.R. Tolkien did say that Aragorn "was raised in the House of Elrond", all else is just artistic license and I ask you to please not take offence in it. 

Aragorn is a man of many names and I believe I have used them all. ;)

He is Estel to his family and close friends, Aragorn to those who knew him during the War of the Ring and to the Dúnedain Rangers and Elessar to the people of his Kingdom.

I have tried my best to get the Elvish words and phrases right, but if you do find an error, please let me know.

Words/phrases that are not translated directly in the text can be found at the end.

**Special A/N:** Above and beyond all, I would like to thank my best friend Phil for her inspiration and patience and for reading and re-reading all my drafts over and over again. Hannon le, muinthel-nîn!

CHAPTER 1

Dead. All of them. Killed.

The smell of fire hung in the air, heavy with the stench of burned flesh. Human flesh.

Bodies littered the damp grass, bodies of men and women, old and young.

Few had survived, too few.

The Dúnedain had long since decreased in numbers, the centuries having taken their toll on the descendants of Númenór.

Too diluted was the blood of the Men of Westernesse with that of other races, making those of "pure" blood painfully aware of their dwindling numbers.

Arathorn, son of Arador, had been the Chieftain of the Dúnedain for only three years. Now he lay among those slain, the arrow of an Orc still protruding from his left eye. One of the last descendants of Isildur was dead.

Beside him lay Gilraen, his wife, she too had been killed in the ambush that a band of Orcs had launched earlier that day.

Elladan, son of Elrond half-elven of Rivendell, stood in the middle of the upturned camp, his fair face covered in soot and blood - his own and that of others - his grey eyes haunted by the horrors that had befallen these people.

"How many live?" His voice was hoarse from the battle and the thick smoke that stung his eyes.

"Not enough. Barely a handful." His twin brother Elrohir stood beside him pressing a rag to his side where an Orc blade had cut a nasty gash through the silver fabric of his tunic, his blood staining it a dark crimson.

Elladan nodded. "Tell them to tend to the wounded…and the dead." He walked away, his soft footfalls making barely a sound in the stillness that had descended upon the clearing.

He needed to get away, just for a moment. Needed to breathe, to think.

Heading towards the forest that surrounded them Elladan barely noticed the whimpering that came from within one of the few tents that still stood.

It did not sound like an Orc and he did not sense the evil that usually radiated from the foul creatures, still he drew his sword, advancing upon the tent stealthily.

He threw back the fabric that covered the entrance – and froze.

Sitting in the middle of the dim interior was a tiny human that stared up at the Elf with huge silver eyes.

It's cheeks were reddened and tear-stained and a tiny string of saliva dripped down the little chin, pooling on the dark-blue fabric of the tunic below.

"Ai, Elbereth have mercy," the Elf whispered, sheathing his sword and crouching down before the child. "Ilúvatar must have been watching over you, little Aragorn."

Elladan reached out and brushed a tear from the little boys cheek, careful not to mar it with the blood still sticking to his hands.

"The babe lives?" an incredulous voice asked from behind, startling Elladan.

Elrohir stepped into the tent and crouched down next to his brother.

"He does indeed." Elladan smiled and gently picked up the boy. "The son of Arathorn lives." It amazed him, for the Orcs had raided the camp like a black plague.

Tiny fists clenched the silver fabric of his cloak as the elder twin rose and stepped out of the tent, followed by his brother.

In the fading light it was apparent that the child hat not been harmed, save for the fact that the boy had just lost both his parents.

"We must take him to ada, the child cannot stay here." Elrohir stroked the fine, black hair that covered the little head, marvelling at how perfect the little human was.

Neither of the twins had much experience with babies, their live-spans had already reached across almost three millennia and children were rare in the Elven Realms.

The son of Arathorn and Gilraen was in fact the first human babe they had ever encountered.

Elladan nodded. "Where are the other Dúnedain?"

"They have retreated into the woods, they will be safe there." Elrohir unclasped his cloak and draped it around the boys shoulders. 

Evening was falling fast and the air already held winter's chill. He did not want the human to catch a cold.

The little one was hiccoughing slightly, no doubt from crying for hours and he clung tightly to Elladan, for he knew and trusted the Elf and the hand that was gently circling on the small back was comforting and reassuring.

"It will be best to leave here and seek shelter elsewhere. I do not want to risk being around should the Orcs decide on another visit." Elladan looked at the boy who had snuggled up in his arms, his head resting against the Elf's shoulder. "He is the last direct descendant of Isildur. Heir to the throne of Gondor and Arnor." His gaze caught that of his twin. "This little one is quite precious."

Elrohir smiled. "He truly is. But what do you think ada will say if we simply bring him to Imladris? Should we not leave him with his people?"

"Nay." Elladan pulled the cloak tighter around the now sleepy child. "They can never protect him as the Elves may. It is best to let ada decide his fate, not the Dúnedain."

Nodding his agreement Elrohir held his brother's horse while the other Elf mounted, barely disrupting the little one's sleep.

"We can reach Amon Sûl by nightfall, there we will make camp and continue on tomorrow." Elladan kicked his horse into a fast canter, holding the still form of the sleeping child safely against his chest.

Following in his brother's wake Elrohir cast a glance back towards the destroyed camp, whispering a silent prayer for the souls of the dead. "Rest peacefully in the Halls of Mandos and may Eru have mercy with you all."

*****

Amon Sûl, the ancient watchtower of Númenór, stood it's silent vigil over the windswept plains that stretched around it in all directions. Though it had long since been destroyed the ruins of the once mighty fort offered protection from the icy winds that swept across the open lands.

Elladan and Elrohir sought out the most protected corner inside the crumbling structure, refraining from lighting a fire, they could ill afford to be detected by the enemy.

Elrohir held the sleeping child while Elladan saw to the gash in his side, spreading a sweet-smelling poultice on the throbbing wound and binding it up with a strip of cloth he tore from his own cloak.

"He wakes." The younger twin smiled at the child as bleary silver eyes looked up at him.

"Nana?" The little one struggled upright in the Elf's arms, looking around for his mother. "Nana?" Trying to free himself from the arms that held him the human child eyed the Elves warily. 

They were no strangers to him, they had spent many months with the Rangers, yet he was a babe in search of his mother.

"Nana is not here, little one." Elrohir spoke softly, casting his brother a worried look as the child's face scrunched up and tears started spilling down the round little cheeks.

"There now…" Elladan cooed, lifting the child from his brother's arms and settling him in his lap. "It is I, Elladan." The Elf coaxed the human child to look at him. "You know your El, don't you?" 

The little boy's tears subsided as he studied the familiar face of the Elf, his little fist closing around one of the long, dark-haired braids that hung over the warrior's shoulder. Within seconds the braid found it's way into the little mouth, tugged forward none too gently and making it's owner wince.

Elrohir took pity on his twin and rummaged around his meagre provisions, finding a piece of bread that was not as stale as the rest and handed it to Aragorn, who took the offering and started chewing happily, actually managing to soften the bread with his saliva in a matter of minutes but thankfully releasing the strand of Elven hair.

"We have to tell him, El," Elrohir spoke in Elvish, knowing the Son of Arathorn did not understand him, "he has to know that his parents will not come back." His heart ached for the child, yet facts did not change.

"He is too young," Elladan interjected, meeting his brother's gaze, "he will not understand." He shook his head sadly. "It is best to wait a while, perhaps ada knows how to tell him."

Tiring of his strange meal Aragorn dropped the soaked bread onto Elrohir's cloak and looked at Elladan with huge, trusting eyes. "Want nana!"

Elladan pulled the young human closer, embracing him gently as he spoke. "Your nana cannot be here now, but we will look after you for a while, won't we, El?" He looked to his brother who nodded vigorously.

The tiny human seemed to contemplate the Elves words before he spoke again.

"No! Want my nana!" Although just two years old the child's voice was demanding, albeit a little shaky with a renewed threat of tears.

"Tell story, 'dan." He snuggled closer to the warmth of the being that seemed to radiate a sense of security.

"A story?" Elladan asked, relieved at the sudden change of demands and looked at his brother for help, but the other was leaning wearily against the stone wall, his injury and the long ride to their resting place having drained him of much of his energy. "Very well," Elladan smiled at the child, wrapping him up in his own cloak, providing some warmth, "you shall have your story."

Since he knew no tales in the common tongue the Elf started singing in his own language, softly at first, only for the child to hear but soon his voice rose into the blackness of the night, carried away by the wind and mingling with the stars, who seemed to be watching over them.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

They had just crossed the Ford of Bruinen that marked the entrance to the hidden Elven haven of Imladris – or Rivendell as it was called in the common tongue – when the twins encountered a group of Elven hunters in whose lead rode Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower and close friend of Lord Elrond.

"Mae govannen! Welcome back, Sons of Elrond!" The Eldar rode towards them, his golden hair gleaming in the pale sunlight like spun gold as it fell around his shoulders.

"I had thought your time with the Dúnedain would last a little longer than just one season."

"So did we," Elladan answered wearily. "Mae govannen, Glorfindel."

An elegant eyebrow winged upward as Glorfindel caught sight of the child the elder twin was holding and an inquisitive blue gaze came to rest upon the Elf he had known since the day of his birth.

Elladan dismounted, stretching his legs while still carrying the sleeping child.

"What happened, Elladan?" Glorfindel looked from one twin to the other, but Elrohir looked away to avoid the Lord's gaze, leaving all explanations to his brother.

Sighing, Elladan shifted the child's weight, which was not easy since the little one was once again using his hair as a pacifier.

"Arathorn was hunting a band of Orcs that wreaked havoc in the Breelands. The Rangers had tracked them but at sunrise we lost sight of the foul beasts and made camp ourselves. We had just bedded down when they attacked. In broad daylight." He shook his head at the memories, sighing softly when he felt Elrohir's hand squeezing his shoulder gently.

"They cut down all they could reach – men, women and even a few boys not older than a child." Sad grey eyes met piercing blue ones who had already seen a great deal of war and pain themselves.

"Arathorn and Gilraen were slain, as were so many others. Few survived. They will now likely join other groups of Rangers and proceed as they ever have. This one here," Elladan smiled down at the child in his arms, "he is the son of Arathorn."

Glorfindel's blue eyes widened. "Then it is wise that you brought him here. The enemy will probably hunt for him, for Sauron knows that the Heir of Isildur is the only one that could cause his ultimate downfall." The blonde's eyes narrowed. "I pray to Ilúvatar that I will yet live to see that day."

Elladan nodded grimly. He had known Glorfindel all of his life, the Noldorin Lord was like a second father or an uncle to him and it had pained him to learn of the noble man's past.

Glorfindel, Elf of Gondolin, who had been slain by a Balrog during the fall of the White City only to be reborn – or sent back by the Valar – into another life filled with perils and heartache, with wars and losses, had finally found a little peace in the hidden valley Elladan's father and grandfather had founded. Peace and a family that was not his by blood but loved him just the same.

He had been there when Celebrían, the twins' mother, had been attacked and tortured by Orcs and had left for the Undying Lands shortly thereafter. He had stood by Elrond's side all the while, giving strength and solace as he had done many times before.

They had been walking while they talked and had so reached the courtyard of Lord Elrond's house.

Behind them Elrohir heaved a sigh of relief. It was so good to be home again.

The other Elves who had been part of Glorfindel's hunting party had fallen back a little, giving the Lords of Imladris room to talk among themselves.

Aragorn had finally awoken and stared at his surroundings curiously, his gaze lighting instantly on the fair haired Elf next to Elladan.

Reaching out with swiftness that would have done an Elfling proud his little fist grabbed a handful of the golden tresses and yanked hard, no doubt testing the strength of the lighter hair as he had often tested that of the twins' darker ones.

Glorfindel howled in pain and surprise, fearing that a strand might have been ripped from his scalp.

Turning a glare at the child he was surprised to find the very effigy of innocence staring back at him, a tiny fist that still held firmly to it's new plaything half in it's mouth.

"Glorfindel?!" Elrond's alarmed voice sounded from behind them as the Lord of Imladris swiftly made his way towards his best friend.

When Elrond reached his friend's side a relieved grin eased the frown from his face.

Untangling his long tresses from the small fingers the Eldar glared at the Lord of Imladris. "I believed *that* to be a thing of the past when these two finally lost interest in my hair." He cast Elladan and Elrohir a reproachful glance, partly in remembrance of the past and partly because they had not managed to restrain the child that was attempting another grab at the silky strands.

"Mine!" The tiny voice demanded with authority, pouting when Glorfindel pulled all his hair back and secured them at the nape of his neck with one of the braids, smiling triumphantly.

"Is it not below the hero of Gondolin to bicker with a mere babe?" Elrond inquired, mirth tugging at the corners of his mouth at Glorfindel's glare.

Not waiting for an answer he turned to his eldest. "You have returned sooner than anticipated. Something has happened." It was not a question, Elladan and Elrohir would have not returned home before spring and certainly not with a human child in their care had not something - presumably terrible - occurred.

"Sadly so," Elrohir spoke, stepping forward. "Arathorn and Gilraen are dead." He looked at the child, his expression softening when trusting silver eyes met his own. "This is their son, Aragorn."

"Aragorn..." Elrond took the child from his  elder son, mindful to keep his own hair from being mauled as Glorfindel's had. "So Arathorn is dead." He looked at the child, sadness weighing on his heart. "Then this child is the last of Isildur's bloodline." Meeting his son's gaze he asked. "What happened?"

Elrohir quickly recounted the tale for his father, noticing the sadness in the elder Elf's eyes. "We thought it would be best to bring the babe to Imladris, tough we can return him to the Dúnedain should you deem it best."

"Nay." Elrond spoke after a few moments. "Your decision was wise." He gently stroked the soft curls, smiling. "The enemy must be led to believe that the Heir of Númenór has been destroyed. If Sauron were to learn that he yet lives he would be hunted all his life. His existence *must* be kept secret, even from the boy himself."

"But, ada..." Elladan interrupted incredulously only to be silenced by a motion of his father's hand.

"Aragorn will remain here. He will be raised in this house as one of our own. When he is old enough I will tell him of his true identity but until that day arrives I place upon you all an oath of secrecy."

Looking around at the assembled Elves he waited until all nodded their accord.

The members of Glorfindel's hunting party were dismissed with a nod of the Lord's head, the rest were lead to his study.

Aragorn, who had grown quite used to seeing new faces by now, was babbling merrily - and rather incoherently - with Lord Elrond, pointing at items he saw as they walked and squealed with delight when the Elf swung him onto his shoulders, something that had always delighted his own sons when they were little.

Lord Elrond's study was a treasure trove filled with books - some older than the twins - and items he had accumulated throughout the many centuries of his life.

Elladan and Elrohir could well remember the many hours they had spent sitting on their father's lap and hearing stories, for Elrond was the greatest Lore master of all the Elven Realms.

Sunlight filtered through the windows, warming the room with it's golden light.

"Surely you do not mean to raise the child yourself?" Glorfindel inquired of his long-time friend. Elrond's wife Celebrían had left for the Undying Lands many centuries ago and it seemed a strange thought to the fair-haired Elf that Elrond, who had walked the face of Middle-earth for nigh on six and a half millennia should now attempt to foster a human babe.

Elrond set the boy on the thick carpet and watched as the child stood to his feet and walked a few steps, clapped his hands at the sight of an ornately carved chessboard and the figurines standing upon it and immediately tried to reach for them.

"I have raised three children, *old friend*, do you not trust me to raise a fourth?" Elrond asked calmly, sighing in relief as Elladan managed to save the chess-set just in time, earning himself a reproachful look from the tiny being.

Glorfindel straightened slightly where he stood, staring at Elrond in a very un-lordly fashion. 

"That is most certainly not what I meant, Peredhel. I just meant that our lives have changed a lot since the last time a child lived under your roof. *You* have changed, Elrond."

The Lord of Imladris looked from his sons back to his friend and smiled. 

"That I have indeed, as have we all. And yet this child needs us. Little Aragorn has lost everything and I feel it is my duty to ensure that he has a good upbringing and a happy childhood." Elrond looked at the child that was clinging to the arm of a chair, trying to reach a crystal paperweight that stood on his desk.

He lifted the child into his arms. "He is of our blood. Of Elros' blood. We cannot send him away." The Elf Lord kissed the soft cheek and smiled happily as a little head rested against his shoulder. "He will stay and we will manage, of that I am certain. It will be good to hear a child's laughter in this house again."

Elladan and Elrohir smiled at each other. They had grown attached to the imp during their journey to Imladris and even Glorfindel's face lit up a little. Though he had no children of his own he had taken great joy in watching the twins and their sister Arwen grow up. Somehow he really did miss having children around.

"And where shall he sleep?" Elladan inquired.

Elrond looked at his son, mirth twinkling in the dark depths of his eyes. "Well if I remember correctly, ion-nîn, there is a guest room next door to yours. That would make a fine nursery for Estel."

"Estel?" Glorfindel arched an elegant eyebrow, ignoring Elladan's protest concerning the living-arrangements for his new brother.

"Aye," Elrond confirmed, "that shall be his name. His true name will be revealed to him on the day he learns of his heritage."

"But why Estel, ada? Why would you call the child "Hope" in his own tongue?" Elrohir gently stroked the little hand that rested against Lord Elrond's chest, eliciting a sleepy smile from the child.

Elrond smiled fondly as Estel stuck his thumb into his mouth, sighing contentedly. 

"I have chosen that name, because I feel it will befit him very well. Besides, I believe he will one day be the only hope Middle-earth will have left." He did not elaborate those cryptic words, in time he would explain them, but not on this day.

Elladan smiled. "We will have to teach him the Grey Tongue an in time El and I shall make a worthy little Elfling of him."

"Elladan!" Elrond admonished, not entirely able to suppress the smile tugging at his lips. "I expect you to be good examples for Estel, he will look up to you." Including both of the twins in a stern glare he asked: "Do you understand me?"

Elladan and Elrohir nodded and answered in unison. "Yes, ada."

"Good." The Lord of Imladris turned to leave the room when a little hand with a wet thumb gently tapped his face and soulful silver eyes looked up at him.

"What is it, Estel?" Elrond inquired softly in the common tongue. 

"Essel…" The child tried out the strange word and smiled and snuggled against the Elf. 

"Ada." He sighed happily and fell asleep in the arms of the man who would guide him wisely and lovingly for the rest of his life.

"I believe he has just adopted you, Peredhel." Glorfindel laughed and left the room, closely followed by the twins.

Elrond carried Estel to his new room, laying him in the middle of the large bed and gently tucking the covers around him.

Yes, this little human would indeed have quite a path to follow in his life, but on this day all was well in the Last Homely House and the Heir of Númenór slept peacefully in the love and warmth of provided by his Elven family.

"May the stars ever shine on you, my Estel, and may the Valar protect you."

**********

adar/ada = father

Naneth = mother

Ion-nîn = my son

Mae govannen = well met

Peredhel = half-elven


End file.
